I'll Keep You By My Side With My Superhuman Might
by Quasi-suspect
Summary: Novice superhero Quinn returns to Lima after catching word that her best friend has gone missing.


**I'll Keep You By My Side With My Superhuman Might**

**A/N: This was a prompt that I received on Tumblr for a drabble of Quinntana as superhumans in a Heroes AU (obviously it turned out to be much longer than a drabble). I didn't put this as a crossover fic because aside from powers the only real mention of anything Heroes specific is a couple references to Hiro Nakamura. **

** Endless thanks to my incredibly talented beta and phenomenal friend ckeller48 (who suffered through this even though Supernatural stuff isn't her cup of tea). **

** With all of that said, I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

_I watched the world float to the dark side of the moon_

_After all I knew it had to be something to do with you_

_I really don't mind what happens now and then_

_As long as you'll be my friend at the end_

The light from a retreating sun invades the desolate warehouse through every crack of the building's boarded windows. It doesn't illuminate the space; rather, it creates the illusion of scattered streaks of dust. In reality, this air is packed with particles that would be unhealthy for the lungs of any normal human.

But Quinn is not normal. In fact, she is arguably farther from normalcy than any of the other superhumans. She doesn't need the weak and quickly disappearing rays to see every microscopic detail of the endless lines of abandoned machines that are haphazardly protected by translucent plastic sheets.

Far more germane to her purpose here, Santana need only take one shallow inhale before Quinn can recognize that she's one corridor and two rooms away.

Quinn is kneeling in front of Santana's cowering form before Santana has finished her following exhale.

Objects around them levitate and fall at varied speeds, a splintered ladder trembles on the concrete floor, cardboard bends and spins in erratic patterns, and the heavy dust of the air forms cloud after joining cloud until a daunting funnel is whirling wildly just behind Quinn's back.

Santana's skin is painted by tortured lines, and her eyelids are squeezed tightly shut. Her mouth opens wide over and over again as if she is screaming, but no sound escapes.

Quinn doesn't need Santana's words to know that her old friend desperately wants her to leave. Santana wants as much distance between them until eventually Santana won't feel everything that is Quinn.

This power was never meant for Santana.

It takes time.

Quinn needs to see her eyes, and just getting Santana to open them takes the remainder of the sunset.

Charged projectiles strike her intermittently, but her concentration is only broken when Santana is periodically endangered by them.

The skin of Santana's face is unnaturally hot under Quinn's hands, and she's sure that if her skin was ordinary flesh that it would easily be damaged by such a heat.

Long after it is done, and the room has settled into stillness, Santana finds her voice.

"What are you doing here, Q? Aren't you supposed to be out playing Supergirl?" Santana questions teasingly, her voice scratchy with effort. Her shoulders sag uncharacteristically from a mixture of exhaustion and relief.

"I told you over a year ago when I left; Save the cheerleader, save the world," Quinn smiles coyly and extends her hands to help Santana up from the dirty floor.

"I don't think _I'm_ who that weird little Asian man had in mind."

"Probably not, but there's obviously_ some_ reason why you were targeted," Quinn notes, allowing the shorter girl to lean on her as they weave their way to the exit.

Quinn can feel how weak Santana is, and thanks to her new power she can now fully understand the toll that this ability has taken on her friend.

You see, Quinn grew up believing that she was "normal", but in the Fabray family, her lack of abilities made her the unfortunate anomaly. Her father could turn inanimate objects into gold; her mother could influence emotions; even Frannie manipulated her first memory (when her piano teacher gave the feature slot at the Spring Recital to another student) before she needed her first training bra.

But for Quinn, years passed and no powers seemed to manifest. She felt inadequate in her own family, so she devoted all of her energy into becoming exceptional in the non-superhuman world. She fought to be the most popular girl at her school, first in her class, head cheerleader, and any other title that would make her feel somehow significant.

When Hiro seemed to apparate into her bedroom-like he was a character out of the Harry Potter books that she had refused to continue reading after she decided that her powers would never come-she was sure that he had the wrong girl.

Still, she was thinking about his visit two weeks later when she went in early to talk to her AP Biology teacher about her last exam grade. Her teacher's skin appeared almost greenish when she entered the room, and she wondered if it was an after effect of an unfortunate breakfast. But the colors changed, as did his features, and hair grew where it didn't belong and disappeared just as mysteriously.

Quinn didn't know any other superhumans apart from her family, friends of the family, and Hiro (_if_ she could say that she knew a man who appeared in her bedroom once with a cryptic line-Save the cheerleader, save the world? Was she supposed to save herself or what?) But she knew a shape-shifter when she saw one, even if this guy was obviously fighting his gift.

So she did what she had watched her mother do countless times before when someone was panicked and upset; she made eye contact, and used a calming voice, and a light, soothing (albeit tentative) touch. Her mother didn't need eye contact to influence someone's emotions, but she claimed that it helped the process (not to mention that if someone were to see her influencing someone else it looked a whole hell of a lot less suspicious).

Of course, Quinn didn't know then that she wasn't, in fact, born powerless. She didn't know that she had the ability to absorb the abilities of others. She wasn't aware then that periodically over the next few months she'd encounter 11 individuals who were either driven mad by their inability to control their gifts or they were doing everything they could to reject them.

Outside of Lima, Ohio, inexplicable tragedies began to overwhelm the nightly news. More powerful than anyone she had ever met, the summer before senior year, Quinn left Lima in pursuit of a greater purpose.

When they reach the uneven pavement-that was once a parking lot-Santana squints, and shields her eyes with her hand. Quinn finds her own face scrunching as well, because, of course, now she can actually feel how sensitive Santana's eyes are to the glow of the street lights.

Every new power requires an adjustment period. The power of an Empath is never one that Quinn would have sought out. It's downright uncomfortable to have Santana's hunger scratching at her stomach as if it were her own. Quinn is now very aware that Santana has gone days without eating.

"Or the guy is like you, but he fucked up; he picked up a power he didn't like and pawned it off on the first sucker he saw, which just happened to be me," Santana reasons.

Quinn smiles because she knows that Santana doesn't even believe what she's saying. Also, as Santana knows, Quinn can absorb powers, but she can't give them (or rather, in this case, inflict them on others).

The sky is quickly approaching dusk again by the time Santana wakes from her exhausted slumber. Quinn's stomach still feels too full even though it has been hours since they ate (she ate as much as Santana wanted to eat rather than the amount that her own body actually needed). But there's another sensation there, that flutters when Santana's familiar brown eyes focus on hers, and Quinn is honestly not sure whether the feeling is actually hers or if it is from Santana. It's confusing, but she doesn't hate it.

Quinn blinks, shifting in the oddly patterned hotel chair, tucking her feet beneath her as she thinks about how Santana was the closest thing to competition in the "non-superhuman" world that she had ever had. They were frienemies on their best days, and all out combatants on their worst.

But shortly into their sophomore year of high school, Quinn started to suspect that Santana was not playing fair. Santana had always been one of their best flyers, but Quinn was convinced that there was something positively unnatural about how much air Santana could achieve with her stunts and how perfectly Santana would land every single time. Quinn pestered her father day after day that the Lopez family had to be unregistered superhumans, but he was not persuaded.

Her priorities shifted after Hiro's arrival in her bedroom, and Quinn all but forgot about her Santana suspicions...that was until the day in the hallway when Artie very publicly called Brittany "stupid". Artie's hands weren't even on his wheels, but his chair violently jerked backwards and away from Britt, and then spun violently in circles until Artie emptied the contents of his stomach partially on his lap and partially on a couple disgruntled members of the hockey team. Santana was in the middle of giving some speech to Quinn that Quinn was sure was meant to be intimidating, when Artie's words seemed to echo through the hallway. From that moment on, Santana's eyes never left Artie. Her eyes were strangely dark, and yet, something flickered there that Quinn found to be very reminiscent of flames.

There was no question in Quinn's mind after that. Santana was telekinetic.

Quinn would readily admit now that she acted brashly in confronting Santana about her abilities. They both had bruises to show for it afterwards, but eventually trust developed between them.

Quinn discovered that Santana was the only one in her family that was superhuman, and that she felt incredibly alone when her powers began to manifest (Quinn was pretty fucking pleased with herself when Santana admitted that she had the power of flight as well). It wasn't the only secret of Santana's that Quinn eventually earned.

It was actually kind of nice, and Quinn felt almost honored that Santana confided that she was confused about her feelings for Brittany (not that it was a surprise, really). Quinn talked Santana through, or rather gave Santana the tough love she needed to come to terms with, who she was. She didn't hold hands with Santana when Santana told her parents, but she sat hip to hip with her former enemy on the Lopez family couch when Santana came out.

Quinn didn't know then why people with power issues kept appearing, but Santana came every time Quinn needed her. Santana came flying through Quinn's bedroom window when the freaky child kept emerging from and then fading back into the wall by her closet, and held the homeless looking chick down (despite the fact that her body was literally charged with electricity) while Quinn made the eye contact that she needed to relieve the woman of her power.

In many ways, Santana made Quinn feel supported and safe, while Quinn provided Santana with a sense of belonging. Santana was also obviously exceptionally relieved that she wasn't some freak who could fly and move things with her mind, and that there were many, many others like her. She found a community in Quinn's family, and Frannie eventually erased every memory of Mr. and Mrs. Lopez's about Santana's abilities both to give them peace of mind and to keep them safe.

Santana had found her place, while Quinn had found a best friend and in many ways a partner.

When Quinn made her decision to leave Lima, she didn't think twice about asking Santana to come with her. While Quinn knew that Santana didn't share the compulsion to serve some greater purpose, she blindly believed that Santana would follow her anywhere.

Quinn had never desired to be normal, and she underestimated how deeply Santana wanted to be like everyone else. She underestimated how much Santana loved Brittany as well, because after all, Brittany wasn't the one who actually knew Santana for who she was.

When Santana said that she wanted to finish her senior year, and that she didn't want to leave Brittany, Quinn was, in many ways, heartbroken.

Quinn phased into the wall on the day she left before another word could be said (including "goodbye").

Santana regards Quinn from under long and sleep matted eyelashes. The fluttering continues in Quinn's stomach, as she struggles to discern the source.

"Why?" Santana asks thickly. It's no longer as evident that Santana's voice has been through the ringer.

It's one word, but Quinn doesn't need clarification.

"I check in when I can, and when it won't put my parents in harm's way. There was a missing person's report made, and I started from the last place you were seen and then I used the tracker's abilities that I've absorbed to-" Quinn explains.

"C'mon would-be-valedictorian, I know you know the meaning of the word _why_, and I also know that even without your Supergirl hearing you definitely heard the word _why_, so why are you answering _how_ instead of _why_?" Santana challenges, propping herself into a sitting position, resting her back against the headboard.

The truth is, Quinn doesn't even begin to know how to articulate the why. There was no need for a reason when she heard that Santana was missing.

She wants to give a quick-witted, biting response like she would have back when she saw Santana every day, but she anxiously twists in the chair to cross her legs at the thigh instead.

Santana's eyebrows both rise together and the room suddenly feels far too hot to Quinn. She can hear the fluctuating hum of the A/C, but her body buzzes with something unrelated, and this soft downy robe feels almost _too_ good against her skin. Quinn is absolutely baffled by herself, because she's pretty sure that she's inexplicably turned on right now.

_Wait._

She realizes that she's not the one wearing a robe; Santana is. Santana passed out earlier mere minutes after her shower, while she was still wearing the hotel robe. Rationally, Quinn knows that she's wearing her usual form-fitting clothes (she realized early on that flowy skirts, and loose dresses provided her enemies with ample fabric to grab), but she can't seem to feel the material of her clothing. There's a shadow of exhaustion in her from the man next door, and a faintly bitter taste in her mouth from the woman across the hall, and many, many other emotions from the hundreds of people in this hotel, but they are like foreign whispers in her head. It doesn't overwhelm her; she only slept for a few short hours, and she spent the rest of the time that Santana was resting to develop a fraction of control over her new power.

Quinn doesn't believe that it is just Santana's proximity that is making her friend's emotions feel indistinguishable from her own.

"I told you that we should have gone somewhere less...populated," Santana says sympathetically.

"You know me, I like to jump in feet first," Quinn forces a confident smile.

"You're different," Santana murmurs.

"It's been quite a year," Quinn responds vaguely. There's an ache in her chest then, that makes Quinn want to rip at her tank top until it fades. She's never experienced anything like this before. It feels similar to regret, but at the same time it's a terrible longing.

"I've missed you," Santana asserts simply, but it's more than enough. Quinn can now grasp in a way that she never has before about how little words can convey. Because this feeling is not adequately described by those three words, and Quinn is absolutely overcome by the true meaning behind them.

Santana's eyes flash with vulnerability and the recognition that she can't hide anything from Quinn right now. Quinn's heart seems to beat to the tune of "fin-a-lly", while "oh god, oh god, oh god" dances its way up her spine.

She closes her eyes, fighting to distinguish herself.

"I'm sorry that you took this on for me," Santana laments, and Quinn feels two full lips-that aren't hers-press together.

She wants to say that she would do anything for Santana, but she's honestly not sure if that thought is her own.

She can't decide if she wants to bring Santana in as close as possible or if she wants her to fly far, far away.

"I'm not sure why this is suddenly so difficult," Quinn breathes, allowing her eyes to flutter open.

"I was in class when the man came. He must have been cloaked somehow because no one else seemed to notice that there was a man in a ridiculous ass trenchcoat gliding up the steps of the lecture hall. I felt all of them at once; it didn't come gradually. I somehow managed to make it to my parent's house, but it was worse than the lecture hall. Mom was mad about some floozy nurse that dad works with, and I lost control of my telekinesis; I shattered every window in the house, and mom was knocked out by a swinging cupboard door. It's worse when you have a connection with someone," Santana details.

"It's probably a very good thing that you didn't go to Brittany then," Quinn offers in a half-joking manner.

Unexpected amusement rises from beneath her ribs until she's giggling uncontrollably. Santana stares at her with knitted eyebrows, and with tight lines by her lips.

A wet blanket of emotion is tossed over her then, and suddenly she feels absolutely hopeless. It's such a dark feeling, but there are murmurings of something beautiful there.

There is a spectrum of colors in her mind, pulsating to unique, individual rhythms. It's almost as if she can hear each color as a different note; it plays a bewitching melody and something that is undeniably _her_ recognizes it. It's a haunting song, the name of which hangs from the tip of her tongue, even though she knows she's never spoken it before.

It's a spinning tunnel of light, and iridescent dust, with surges of frigid air followed by thick, breathless heat.

Santana is gathering her into her arms; it's both a merging and a separation within Quinn, and she's pretty sure that she couldn't point to which way is up right now.

"It'll be okay. I'll drop you off at the cabin where you'll be safe and alone," Santana reassures her.

Quinn's arms instinctively wrap around Santana's neck, and just like that, she's weightless. Her stomach flips, and beads of moisture form along her hairline; it's a rush that she has missed severely. Flying with Santana again muzzles the voices, and the unwelcome invasion of emotions. Santana is still glowing within her, but it's absolutely brilliant. Flying is a rush for her, but she can finally feel how absolutely natural, liberating, and exhilarating it is for Santana.

She's half-asleep when Santana lands, crunching a twig beneath her bare foot. Quinn finds her own footing on the porch of Mr. Lopez's cabin as Santana reaches along the wooden post beneath to fish out the keys to hand Quinn.

Quinn seizes the hand offered to her, and barely registers the press of jagged metal against her skin as their palms crush together.

There's a faint awareness within Quinn that she may be using too much force, because the wind comes out of Santana in a rush-pushing the air out of Quinn as well-when Quinn's fingers slide aggressively through Santana's hair, pulling the shorter woman's lips into her own.

There's a metallic taste in her mouth, that she knows must be from Santana, since her skin is mostly impossible to penetrate, but any empathic pain is unnoticeable.

It would undoubtedly seem strange to any bystander that they make every whimper, sigh, and whine in complete unison.

They push each other back almost simultaneously as well. Quinn has lost herself in Santana again.

"I need to go," Santana rasps, her exhales coming in short spurts.

"Stay," Quinn orders with a low hum.

This desire is unlike anything she's ever felt before; it's exciting and staggering, and she _needs_ this.

Quinn grits her teeth as Santana's anger surges white hot beneath her own skin. _God, this is a mess._

"The sickest part of this, is that I can't even hate you for how fucked up this is," Santana snaps, taking repeated steps back, and away from Quinn.

Every step seems to help, even if Quinn has to fight the urge to close the distance.

Santana is amongst the trees now, and Quinn knows that she wouldn't even be able to make out her old friend's shape if it wasn't for her superhuman sight. She can still _feel_ Santana, but it's detached from her own self-awareness in a way that it wasn't before.

The fog of her mind dissipates bit by bit, and she's left with a clarity that hits her with bruising force. She sits stiffly down on the steps of the porch.

Quinn may be one of the most powerful people in the world, but she's far from omnipotent. Having literally _felt_ it now for herself, she can't believe how laughably stupid she has been.

It's a ripple that grows weaker with each step that Santana takes, until it isn't colors, and pulsations, and this intense but ever-changing climate within her; the words are what remain now.

_Santana is in love with her._


End file.
